#I keep pausing weirdly when I talk about the traps killing what you catch
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Hi. It has been a really long time since 3rd life ended. And I have not yet stopped thinking about it. Especially weirdly mundane ideas about it... Right now I'm thinking about how on edge everyone was near the end, and how on that server nobody could sleep the night away and nobody had the gear and security they were used to, so they might have naturally fallen into a system of having a night watchman and taking guard in shifts in the little groups they were in. This could be an idea for the crastle gang or for the Red Army, but I'm just loving the image of somebody staring out over a wall in silence, peaceful friends sleeping by the firelight behind them, never quite knowing if the next person will come to take over or if their shift will be interrupted by violence and chaos...I just like night watchmen a lot really
it's like the calm before the storm, i really like that. where nobody is able to sleep soundly bc they know the endgame is coming but they also want to cherish the last night/s they have together. T_T
...
Martyn sits atop the wall of Dogwarts, watching the landscape carefully for any enemies. In the distance, the lights of the Crastle can be seen. But no movement, and no sign of life can be seen except a faint figure atop the crenellations. Likely someone else keeping watch to protect their allies, just as Martyn is doing here.
Or someone keeping lookout for a readying ambush.
His mind keeps trying to wander but paranoia brings it back to earth. He has to keep watch, no matter how long the night is dragging on. If he doesn’t keep his focus, he may inadvertently let something slip past him, a dangerous something that may hurt or kill his friends. And he can’t let that happen.
He’s already failed to protect one friend recently. He can’t afford to lose another.
His chest twists as he thinks of his fallen friend. He allows his thoughts to drift momentarily, but a moment is all that’s needed.
“Martyn?”
Martyn jerks so sharply that he almost falls off the top of the wall. A hand shoots out and catches his shoulder. “Hey, whoa. Watch out.”
“Sorry.” Martyn clears his throat awkwardly. “Lost in my thoughts. Not great for a lookout, huh?”
Etho sits down on the wall next to Martyn. “Something on your mind?”
“A lot of things.”
As the pause grows longer, Etho says, “Anything you want to talk about?”
Martyn hesitates. “I’d… like to talk about Skizz a bit. I haven’t had a chance to fully process his death.”
Etho nods slowly, letting himself settle back. “Me neither. It all happened so suddenly.”
“It really did. He charged in there and I could hear him yelling and then suddenly… nothing. He just went down so quickly.”
Etho awkwardly pats Martyn on the shoulder. “Do you miss him?”
“I do. Weirdly, I do. And I say “weirdly” because I didn’t expect to really care about anyone except Ren. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Martyn gazes up at the sky as he searches for the right words. “Skizz was a… He was just so full of life, you know? Always chatting away about anything and everything, making jokes, trying to make people laugh. But he really cared about everyone. He took care of us. With the tunnel and giving us all golden apples and sharing his resources and always being so loyal even when his life was being threatened.”
Etho nods again. “Skizzle’s always been full of love for the world and its people. His best trait is his heart.”
“And it got him killed,” murmurs Martyn numbly.
After a moment, Etho glances sideways at him. “May I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“What do you plan to do if you and Ren are the last two standing?”
Martyn considers this for a moment. “I… have plans. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
“You don’t?”
“No. We’re outnumbered and outgunned; we’re gonna get slaughtered within a few days.”
“We have our loyalty,” Etho says.
“But they have the numbers and they’re united by their hatred for us,” responds Martyn. “They have a common enemy and they won’t betray each other before we’re taken down. They’re not idiots; they’ll coordinate an attack, set devastating traps, and kill us all. We’ll fight back as best we can, but they’ll take us down. If we’re lucky, they won’t force Ren to watch the three of us get executed in front of him.”
Etho frowns. “That’s a very depressing outlook.”
“It’s the most realistic. If they’re smart, they’ll be planning an ambush right now to take us down while we’re at our weakest.”
The two fall silent, gazing out at the nighttime landscape. Apart from a few mobs wandering around on the other side of the river, everything is still and silent.
“You should get some rest,” Etho says eventually. “I’ll take over the watch.”
Martyn glances back at him. “Are you sure? You’re not due to take over for another hour and a half.”
“I’m sure. You look like you need the rest. No offense.”
Martyn gives a chuckle. “None taken. Thank you.”
He climbs down the ladder and joins his remaining two friends by the fire. After adding a few logs to keep it going, he settles down near Ren, comforted somewhat by the wolfy scent coming from his sleeping king. He gazes up at the sky and pictures the faces of two people: Skizz and Jimmy. Two people he cared about, who are now gone. They were full of life and hope for the future, a better future than the raging war going on outside their respective walls.
Martyn wishes he could carry on that hope.
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what comes after the ending. 1/?
(about those corspes: in which trevor is bedridden and bored and fishing for answers)
---
Trevor Belmont was a terrible patient.
Despite repeatedly telling him to stay in bed for the rest of the week, the man had tried far too many times to disregard that. Which brought them to their current arrangement: he had a rotation of visitors to keep him company in his room at the castle. Or, as Adrian liked to say, Babysit the Belmont. Adrian was on babysitting duty for at least an hour or two, at Greta’s insistence. You need to take a break sometimes, she had said.
Adrian wasn’t sure he wanted to call this a break.
“So...” Trevor broke the almost uncomfortable silence. “What’s this nonsense I keep hearing about bodies on stakes?”
It’s not the question Adrian expected. He froze for a fraction of a second. He had promised one of the children he would draw them something. His charcoal hovered over the sketchbook, the beginnings of a bird and some flowers blossoming across the page.
“What do you mean?” Adrian asked, carefully, as if he’s trying not to trip into some trap.
Trevor rolled his eyes.
“Exactly what I said. Some of the villagers said there were bodies on stakes. In front of your fucking castle.”
Adrian hesitated and definitely didn’t look up from the sketchbook.
“Just night creatures.”
“Just night creatures?” From his tone, Adrian knew Trevor was scrutinizing him. That he knew something--that he knew there had been two human bodies among the corpses, two bodies that had been closest to the castle doors and obviously the first ones. “What, did you think that would keep them away, or something?”
Adrian shrugged.
“I wasn’t in the best state of mind, I suppose.”
He resumed sketching, not sure what Trevor was getting at with this line of questioning or why he had to bring it up at all. It had been three weeks since the people of Danesti had arrived at the castle, and Adrian had kept busy. He worked on infrastructure and plans with Greta. He helped the people build their houses. He cleaned the interior of the castle that would be open for public use, and made sure to block off areas they weren’t allowed to access without his express permission. He spent time with the orphans.
He kept busy.
If he didn’t let his mind wander, he couldn’t fall into the open chasm in his chest. He felt it there, still, as time passed and things settled. There was something gnawing at his insides. Even as he settled into routine, and the things he did filled him with a kind of contentedness he could have only wished for, the abyss still remained. He was weirdly happy, he’d agreed, and yet he felt that abyss zapping it from him.
(Any time someone touched him suddenly and he flinched away. Whenever he was left alone in darker corridors of the castle. Whenever he looked through his mother’s books, his father’s work. Whenever he found a trinket left behind by one of the vampire generals. It was there, like a thorn in his side, or a wound scabbed over only to be picked at again and again.)
“You never did tell me and Sypha what happened while we were gone,” Trevor said, watching the motions of Adrian’s hand.
“There isn’t much to tell.” He shrugged, again. “I was here. I did work on the Hold. And then I... Well, I suppose I was slowly losing my mind.”
“Would explain the creepy fucking decorations your villagers saw.” Trevor shifted on the pillows, grimacing at his still healing wounds. “...Adrian.”
Adrian stiffened at the use of his real name. He looked up, catching Trevor’s gaze. There was something concerned, there. Concerned and scrutinizing, like he was trying to put a puzzle together but he was missing the pieces.
“Greta said something.” Trevor paused, trying to find the right way to approach. Careful not to trip any traps, just like Adrian was trying not to do. “Something about...human corpses.”
Adrian felt his breath catch. He supposed he hadn’t told her any of that in confidence. He’d given her vague details-- made it sound like it hadn’t hurt as much as it did. That Taka and Sumi’s betrayal had just been... something that happened. He was angry about it, and then he did what vampires do, right? He wasn’t human, so it made sense that his anger would culminate in some monstrous display.
“What exactly did she say?”
Trevor hummed.
“Eh, not much. Just told me you were a lot less, well, you, when you arrived at their village. Or more ‘you’. Shit. I dunno. Look, when Sypha and I left you here, we thought with all the restoration you had to do, it would keep you busy. Keep you from...losing yourself. But, honestly, it was a stupid fucking idea. Not only could we have used an extra set of hands out there, I know what loneliness does to a person. Especially when it’s the result of losing your whole family.”
Adrian blinked. He hadn’t expected all of that, especially not from Trevor Belmont. Sypha must have rubbed off on him.
“Nothing you could have done. The castle needed protecting. I was here to protect it.”
“Yeah? From what? Doubt those fucking night creatures would have actually gotten near it if no one was here.”
Adrian shot him a look.
“From people, obviously.”
“Yeah, and what people were those?” Trevor paused, suddenly, frowning. Like the puzzle pieces were fitting together.
“No one,” Adrian said, too quickly, incriminating himself and falling right into one of those traps. “I mean--”
“Adrian,” Trevor said. “What happened while we were gone?”
“Didn’t Greta already tell you?” Adrian snapped. The charcoal broke between his fingers, the page smudged. “You left me here. I did my duty, I protected the castle and the Hold for months. For months, I stayed here, alone, protecting myself and the castle from anyone else who would try to take from me.”
It bled out of him. Everything he had stored away in the back of his mind in lock boxes that said “do not touch”. They were all open now, festering wounds. The faded, faded scars burned from the silver that had trapped him. Adrian swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry here, not in front of Belmont.
“I put my trust in the wrong people and they tried to kill me.” His voice was strained. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
He snapped the sketchbook closed, the bird and the flowers were smudged messed. He would have to try again sometime. He rose from the chair in a swift, elegant movement, ignoring the way his chest constricted. Ignoring Trevor on the bed, propped up by pillows, looking as if he would be out and about in a few days. That was the only reason he was here.
“Adrian--”
“I believe it’s time I get going. There’s still a lot of work to be done and I don’t trust Greta not to make...adjustments...to our plans.” Adrian turned toward the door and felt like a coward. “I’ll...see you later.”
#castlevania#castlevania spoilers#fanfic#castlevania fanfic#adrian tepes#trevor belmont#pre-ot3#or ot4 im not sure yet tbqh#we'll see if i can do a few more of these#i have thoughts#but i am slow and have fifty other things to work on lol
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feel the heat
prompt: overheating
whumpee: nick burkhardt
fandom: grimm
hi! welcome to my first fic for @summer-of-whump! i’m super excited to be doing this event and finally getting back into writing lmao. shit has been crazy but now i get to relax and beat up my faves :) hope you enjoy this one!
“It’s gonna be a hot one out there today, Portland,” announces the DJ on the car radio. “Temperatures are expected to rise into the high nineties and possibly even break 100, so stay cool if you can.”
Hank casts a glance at Nick, who even today is wearing his usual long-shirt-long-pants outfit. “You’re gonna melt, man,” he warns, making the turn that’ll lead them to their latest crime scene - a body at the top of Mt. Tabor Park, stabbed to death and discovered by a jogger early that morning.
Nick shrugs. “I’ll roll up my sleeves if it’s really that hot.” Privately, though, he has no intention of exposing his arms today. They’re covered in some fairly scary-looking and difficult-to-explain marks, courtesy of a run-in with, of all things, an unusually angry and confrontational Eisbiber. He’ll sacrifice a little discomfort in exchange for no one wondering what the hell kind of animal he’d gotten into a confrontation with.
They arrive at the park, climbing out of the car and into the sweltering midday heat. It’s a bit of a walk up the hill to their murder scene, and by the time they arrive Nick is already feeling the effects of his ill-chosen clothes. But there’s nothing that can be done about it now, so he pushes the discomfort aside and approaches the body.
‘Stabbed to death’ seems somehow like an understatement in this particular case. The body is absolutely covered in stab wounds, each one at least two inches long and the majority of them fairly deep. Someone had certainly been angry, or had wanted to be really sure that this person was dead.
“Damn,” Hank says, which sums up Nick’s feelings on the matter quite well. He takes a step closer to the body, then looks up suddenly as something catches his attention. It’s a person, he realizes, trying very hard to sneak away from the area unnoticed. But they must sense his attention, because all of a sudden they start running. Naturally, so does Nick.
Hank’s eye catches the movement at the same instant that Nick takes off running down the other side of the hill. Someone is racing off through the trees, dressed all in black and obviously fleeing something, presumably the police presence at the scene of the murder they committed. He starts running as well, and although Nick has a couple seconds and his Grimm-ness to his advantage, Hank catches up to him after no more than a minute, panting, with his hands braced on his knees. He’s definitely regretting his choice of clothes right now, Hank thinks, scanning the scenery around them for any signs of their possible killer.
“Lost them,” Nick voices Hank’s thoughts as he straightens up. He gives Hank a rueful sort of half-smile and then takes a look at the hill they’ve just run down. He really wishes that they didn’t have to climb back up it. He feels sort of...odd. Weirdly dizzy, and way too tired for the fairly small amount of running he’s just done. That’s probably not good, he thinks, and then starts the unavoidable walk back up.
Hank walks beside Nick, who is walking at a slower pace than normal. He wonders why in the hell Nick doesn’t roll up his sleeves, or at the very least undo the top button of his Henley. Hank himself is hot and more than a little uncomfortable in his t-shirt and lightweight pants, and he can only imagine how much more uncomfortable Nick must be. Maybe it’s a Grimm thing, he figures. Maybe Nick is less sensitive to extreme temperatures, or something.
Nick so desperately wishes that Grimms were resistant to the heat. But if anything, it feels like he’s more susceptible to it. The air is like a thick blanket wrapped way too tightly around his body, slowly suffocating him, cutting off the air to his lungs and making him feel like he might just collapse at any second. He imagines his choice of clothes today is also not helping, but his arms feel too weak to reach up and undo a button, and the sleeves are a non-starter regardless. At least they’re almost to the top of the hill…
Nick and Hank step back into the main part of their crime scene just as the techs are packing up. Wu waves them over from where he’s standing next to a bench, looking at something in his notebook. “We’re just about done here, unless you guys noticed anything else while you were running away?”
Hank waits for Nick to tell Wu about the person they’d seen fleeing, but after a second it becomes clear that Nick must be expecting Hank to speak, so he says, “we saw someone running off down the hill. We followed them, but they got away. I didn’t get a good look - just that they were dressed all in black. Did you get a better look?” He turns to Nick with the question.
Nick shakes his head once, then immediately stops when the world starts spinning. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, pushing down a sudden, intense wave of dizziness and nausea. Something is wrong, he thinks, but he has no idea what it is.
“Nick? You good?”
Nick opens his eyes at Wu’s question. “Yeah,” he manages to say. He thinks he should probably elaborate a little, but he really doesn’t have the energy.
“O...kay,” Wu says, glancing between Nick and Hank like he’s maybe missed something. Hank, for his part, is looking at Nick, who is looking a little bit off. His face is pale, his eyes are unfocused, and he generally looks kind of miserable. But before he can ask Nick whether he’s really okay, Wu is continuing.
“If that’s all you guys saw, I’ll let the Captain know. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to do with ‘running figure, dressed all in black,’ but it’s something.” He pauses for a second, wipes a hand across his forehead. “They must be crazy, wearing head-to-toe black in this heat. Now, I think I’m gonna retreat to the air conditioning in my patrol car, if you don’t mind.”
With that, Wu heads off, meandering down the path to where his car is parked.
“Let’s follow him,” Hank says, starting off after Wu. “Some air conditioning sounds pretty damn good to me right now.”
Nick tries to follow him, but his legs feel like they’ve suddenly turned into lead. “Hank,” he says, reaching out a hand to try and tap Hank’s retreating shoulder.
He misses wildly, obviously, but Hank turns around anyway. “You okay?”
Talking feels like the most difficult task in the world, but after a moment of intense concentration, Nick is able to string a few words together. “I feel…”
How does he feel again? Oh. Right.
“Really bad.”
His knees choose that exact moment to buckle, and fortunately Hank has also chosen that moment to hurry back over to Nick. He catches him before he hits the ground, then wraps an arm around Nick to keep him standing.
This close, he knows something isn’t right. Nick is shaking, and far sweatier than he should be, even considering his warm clothes and recent physical activity. Hank puts a hand to the side of his neck and feels Nick’s pulse, which is absolutely racing beneath his fingers. His skin is strangely cold to the touch. Heat exhaustion.
“We need to cool you down,” Hank says firmly, moving his arm to wrap around Nick’s waist as he begins walking towards the car.
“Wha’s happening?” Nick mumbles, his feet dragging along the ground. He tries to make them move, but they refuse. He feels so bad.
“You have heat exhaustion, and if we don’t cool you down, you’re going to have to go to the hospital. This turns into heatstroke and it can kill you,” Hank says, reaching into his pocket with the hand that’s not currently preventing Nick from faceplanting into the ground and grabbing his keys.
Nick catches the words “exhaustion,” “cool,” and “hospital,” and immediately uses what little strength he currently possesses to try and pull away from Hank. “No hospital,” he says pleadingly. He hates the hospital.
“You won’t have to go to the hospital as long as you cool off,” Hank repeats. He pushes the unlock button on the keys. “We’re almost to the car, and then you can sit down and we’ll turn on the air conditioning and get you some water.”
“‘Kay,” Nick agrees, again having heard approximately half of Hank’s words but getting the general sense of what they mean, which essentially boils down to no hospital, which is more than good enough for him.
They reach the car at long last, and Hank carefully leans Nick against the side of it as he opens the passenger door. He guides Nick inside and closes him in, then circles around the front of the car and gets into the driver’s seat, wincing at the stagnant heat trapped in the car. He quickly turns on the engine and cranks the air conditioning on full blast, slamming his door. That done, he leans into the backseat, searching for the water bottle that he knows he’d left in there the other day. He finds it underneath the seats and pulls it free triumphantly, then hands it to Nick.
“It’s gonna be warm, but it’s better than nothing. Drink it all,” he instructs.
Nick doesn’t say anything, but his shaking hands twist off the cap, and he drinks the whole bottle. It is unpleasantly warm, as Hank had warned, but it feels like the best thing in the entire world anyway. He actually starts to feel a little bit better, and cautiously opens his eyes.
And promptly shuts them when the world starts spinning again. ‘A little bit better’ from ‘really bad’ is still pretty bad, evidently.
“Try putting your head down,” Hank says, gently prying the empty bottle from Nick’s hands. “It might help with the dizziness.”
Nick complies, resting his head between his knees and trying to take a few deep breaths. He feels Hank reach across him and buckle his seatbelt, and then they’re moving, and he’s suddenly very glad that he’s already in the anti-dizziness position.
“Where we going?” he asks quietly, when he feels somewhat like he can speak.
“My place,” Hank says. It had seemed like the easiest option. It’s closer to the park than Nick and Juliette’s, and certainly closer than the precinct or Monroe and Rosalee’s. He answers the question he’s sure Nick would be asking if he felt up to it. “I texted Wu and told him. He said he’d let Renard know that we’d both be taking off early today.”
Ordinarily, Nick would argue against this decision, try to insist that he is fine and fully capable of going back to work. But honestly, he feels so far from fine right now, and the thought of lying down on Hank’s couch with the fan going and a nice cold glass of water sounds like heaven. So just this once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets Hank take care of him.
thanks for reading this! i hope you enjoyed :) i did a lot of research on temperatures and heat exhaustion and whatnot for this and had a good time lol. also i feel the need to say idk if we ever know where hank lives so the part ab him living closer to the park is just made up on my part.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump1#grimm#nick burkhardt#hot#heat exhaustion#my writing#i say things#okokok me time! i graduated high school a little bit ago! which is so crazy to me.#so now i have my whole summer to write whump (and prepare for college yikes)#but also wanna say: was very excited to add in the location here! i went there so i was like oh i have to kill someone here :)#also in a way nick in this fic reminds me of a younger me#i used to wear jeans and sweatshirts Year Round and its hot as balls here for the majority of the year#how i never got any kind of heat exhaustion type thing i never know#i used to ride my bike everywhere too. in the july heat in my sweatshirt and jeans#idk man.#anyway thats enough from me#hope you are having a very lovely night if you read all that :)
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this is for @just-1margaret who won my giveaway last may! im so sorry it took me this long to get done but here is your la squadra wholesomeness on a day off at the beach ; )
The past few months have certainly been difficult to say the least. Being generally unappreciated at your insanely dangerous job, doing said difficult work with little pay, regardless, you supposed that it was good that the Consigliere finally realized that it might not be a good idea to alienate the branch of the Famiglia that literally kills people for money.
So it came to pass that on a certain fateful day, Risotto has you all gather together in the hideout. There’s a long tense silence as you all gather together. As always, Sorbet and Gelato are tangled on the couch together. Illuso pokes out of the mirror, a bored look in his eyes that quickly turns smug as soon as he catches you looking at him. Prosciutto looks disaffected as he lounges on the couch, smoking a cigar. Pesci tries to follow after his mentor’s calm demeanor but fails miserably, a sight to see considering he was sitting between Prosciutto and Formaggio who was lounging on the couch with an easy smile on his lips. Ghiaccio and Melone sit together, tapping on their computers, probably catching up on some last minute work, they whisper to each other about what they think is going on.
You sit beside them, chewing some gum, trying to look calm though your heart hammers in your chest. Why did Risotto call you all here, right now? Was there something wrong?
After a long moment, Risotto decides that you’ve all settled down and he brings out a manila folder. That simple action is enough to shatter the easy atmosphere.
“The Consigliere has sent something,” Risotto says grimly.
Everyone sits still with bated breath as Risotto opens the folder. He reads the contents of the letter inside of it for a long moment and then he pulls out what looks like a fan of tickets.
“They wish for us to rest,” he says with a strangely calm voice.
There’s another long moment of silence in the group that’s broken by Pesci.
“Do they mean for us to rest permanently or...?”
And then, it’s chaos.
“Are they serious?!”
“Who do they think we are?”
“What beach are we talking about?”
The question that spurs the rest of your squad into silence comes from Formaggio. There’s a lazy grin on his face as he looks over the indignant and shocked faces of the other members. There’s dead silence as your group turns to look at Risotto, who plops the sheaf of tickets to the group.
“Well…” Gelato hums, “about damn time I say.”
“What about the money?” Sorbet asks, “they gonna start paying us properly or are we still gonna get the scraps?”
For the first time in a long while, Risotto smiles, his dimples evident as he sets down the folder.
“How sure are we this isn’t a trap?” Ghiaccio hisses out, “they think they can just buy us out like this?”
“The Consigliere is a good man,” Prosciutto comments, his only word on the matter, “the only man with sense by the boss’s side, at least.”
“As promised then,” Risotto says, “we go on this trip, consider it … team building.”
That is your capo’s last words on the matter and thus, it allows your teammates to pass through the day with excited chattering, packing for the beach trip. As you settle down in your room to pack for the beach trip. You wonder if maybe this is a sign that things are starting to look up for your team.
All expenses have been shouldered by the Consigliere, who after his assignment from the boss has taken it upon himself to mend fences with your squad. It’s a rather surprising move on his part considering how the boss had openly neglected your squad. There’s still the undercurrent of distrust among some of the other members who still believe this trip to be a trap, at least until the Consigliere himself appears, greeting your group with a smile on his face.
The Consigliere is an old man, his hair in various shades of graying, his face lined with age. Beside him, a boy with pink hair and a strange sweater. He shakes your capo’s hands and after a little exchange of words, drives you up to the villa where your team will be staying at. He chatters pleasantly about his hopes for better relations with your gang, words that would ordinarily ring hollow for you but … for some reason bring you something akin to hope. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt in a while, but you’re glad for it.
On your group’s first outing to the beach, Risotto stays put, insisting for the rest of you to have fun. He dong a pair of black swimming trunks and a loose black polo that he keeps unbuttoned. he stays in the shade, reading some books and keeping his peculiar eyes hidden with a pair of shades. He’s the talk of the beach, you poke around, staying back with him for a while as you watch the other members of your gang play around the beach.
“I’ll be fine,” he assures you, “I’m not one to play in the water. You can have fun.”
He gives you a carefree smile as he nudges you along. Hesitantly, you do as he asks. Occassionally, Prosciutto will swap out with him so he can get himself some ice cream. He’s always stopped by women, asking for pictures of which he will politely decline. It’s not good for a hitman to have pictures taken after all. Sometimes, you do manage to catch him, comforting a lost child, directing them to the proper services.
Of all of you, Pesci has the most fun, he sits by the docks happily fishing with Beach Boy. You stop by for a minute, playing with the bait, watching him fish. He seems to have amassed a little ocean in his pail, along with some other fish in the cooler.
“You plan on fishing up the whole ocean, Pesci?” You tease good-naturedly.
“I’ll put them back,” he replies cheerfully, a boyish grin on his face as he continues fishing. “I just wanted to catch a few bigger ones, f-for dinner tonight, big bro said if I caught nice ones, he’d cut them up for dinner.”
You blink in surprise, “Prosciutto’s cooking dinner?”
“Yeah!”
You purse your lips as you watch the glittering waves, “he must be … in a really good mood, then.”
After you hang out with Pesci for a little while, you walk by the shore, noticing Ghiaccio who’s been building a sand castle. He grumbles as he builds and it’s only then that you notice a droopy part to the surprisingly well built sand sculpture. He notices you approach and as if to preemptively shut down any ideas you may have about knocking down his castle he growls at you.
“If you plan on ruining this castle any more than Illuso has, I swear to God, witnesses be damned, I’m going to kill you!”
You laugh at that, unable to help yourself. It was just … a little cute to see him, carefully poring over every little detail of his sand castle, his curls sticking everywhere.
“Chill,” you say, a little smirk on your face as the irony of your little joke is not lost on you, “I just wanted to ask if you need help.”
Taking a seat beside him and a safe distance away from his sand castle you are able to marvel at his work. You suppose that it would have been prettier had it not been destroyed on one side. But even so, it was gorgeous, it shocks you a little bit to see just how detailed Ghiaccio had managed to be. You couldn’t believe it was made of sand.
“You’re … weirdly good at stuff like this,” you praise.
Ghiaccio grumbles but you do see a light blush dusting his face, as always, he was terrible at receiving compliments. He never knew what to do when he got them. Even his ears started to turn a little bit red.
“I-if you want to help, just don’t get in my way,” he grumbles. “I don’t want you ruining anything.”
You pout as you continue to watch him build and then you stand up, “I’m kinda thirsty, want me to get you anything?”
Ghiaccio mulls it over for a moment, pausing as he rebuilds a turret, “soda sounds good.”
“Alright, I’ll get you one, anything else?” You pat the sand off yourself as you address him.
“No… Thanks, _____.”
You smile a little as you walk up to the nearby beachside store selling some cool treats. Yeah, today seemed like a really good day, you thought to yourself as you walked. On your way, you catch a glimpse of Formaggio and Melone trying to pick up some tourists. you cringe internally as you hear their attempts at flirting.
“Now, I’m not a photographer, sweetheart.” Formaggio croons, his voice smooth as butter and as sweet as honey. “But I can picture me and you together.”
“What’s your zodiac sign then?” Melone asks excitedly, getting too close in a tourist’s personal space, “come now, no need to be shy. I need to know! You have excellent hips, perfect for a mother to – hey! Why are you running?!”
Something akin to secondhand embarrassment blooms in the pit of your belly and you make your way to the store, trying to look as though you have no idea who Formaggio and Melone are. Thankfully, your gambit seems to work as you manage to get into the shop with not much difficulty and purchase the cold drinks. Though as you walk back to Ghiaccio, you wonder where Illuso might be. You hadn’t seen him all day after all.
Illuso spends the day in his mirror world, happily relaxing with no large crowds to be bothered about and no annoying teammates to pester him. It’s heaven, at least for him. And it’s the only place where Ghiaccio couldn’t try to kill him after he ruined his sandcastle. Illuso is smug as he relaxes. It was the perfect day to relax.
You have dinner on the beach as well, Prosciutto taking it upon himself to gut and grill the fish Pesci has caught. You find yourself enraptured as he prepares the food. Though upon seeing you gape at him, he quickly tasks you with preparing the food instead. You sit beside him, chopping up some veggies that he told you he was going to grill while Risotto returns after some time with Ghiaccio in tow, having managed to gather some firewood for a bonfire.
With your coaxing, and Risotto’s assurance that no blood would be shed, Illuso is quickly coaxed out of the mirror - finally able to join your group again for a pleasant dinner.
“You didn’t have to hide all day Lulu,” you teased, “I’d protect you.”
Illuso scoffed at that, flicking your forehead and grabbing some grilled fish. You smile warmly as you settle by your teammates. Sorbet and Gelato finally make their way back to your group - sure their hair is a little mussed up and you definitely notice some hickeys but you play dumb. With good food, refreshing drinks, and funny stories to exchange by the warm bonfire, you find yourself feeling something you haven’t felt in a long time since you’ve joined Passione.
Contentment. Completion...
Such cherishjed moments and days like these, you hoped they would continue.
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It’s Complicated 21/25
Pairing: Clint Barton x Fisk Niece!Reader
A/N: Reader is Wilson Fisk’s Niece. I’m tired of the same old villains so keep your eyes peeled for who just might be the one lurking in the dark.
Warning: This is very match and lighter fluid type of burn. Feels of abandonment. Talks of Psychopaths. Overprotective male. Lies. Secrets. Language. Kidnapping. Violence. I think that’s about it.
Sometimes in life there are just certain people worth breaking the rules for. No matter the hell that may rain down.
Is it possible to fall in love with someone in just a matter of one conversation? To be utterly and completely obsessed with someone in a matter of weeks? But what if they aren’t who you think they are? What if one day the person you love, they just disappear?
Learning to live again is a bitch. Specially just when you think you’re doing fine, he shows up on your doorstep. Wanting to explain his secrets. But now you’ve got your own secrets but do you really ever just get over that type of love? Can you really just move on and pretend it never happened? Even when you’re carrying around proof inside you?
Tag List Is Open
When the elevator announces their arrival, they head into the kitchen. Nat jumps up quickly from the table.
“I swear you get bigger every time we see you.” She gushes, hugging Y/N before she moves Y/N’s belly.
“You know what I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Y/N laughs.
“It means my favorite little man is getting bigger.” Nat coo’s, all soft for her nephew.
“Is it weird seeing Romanov, all soft?” Tony asks looking at Buck.
“Tony I’ll kill you in your sleep.” Nat snaps a glare in his direction. Tony swallows, leaning back slowly.
“We wanted to tell you something.” Clint smiles at her.
“Actually,” her mode shifts just a little chilly towards him “Wanda and I did some shopping for the baby. Let her show you everything.” Nat nods, Wanda hurries out of her seat, she grabs Y/N’s hand. She laughs following Wanda into the living room. “Not you, Barton. We need to talk.” She hisses, her hand on his chest.
“What’s wrong?” He eyes her.
“Y/N sweetie, I need to talk to Clint. We’ll be right there.” Nat calls.
“She’s fine.” Sam calls back, letting him know it wasn’t a rush. Buck sighs, following as Nat grips the front of Clint’s shirt, yanking him after her.
“Easy, Nat.” Clint huffs. When he tugs away, she catches his arm. Shoving him, he turns, his arm snaps back pinned behind him. His cheek against the wall, in a way trapped. “Ah, Nat. Need that arm. Having a baby soon.” He pants softly, wincing at the position his arms in.
“Oh you remember that? You having a baby, a damn good woman?” Her tone pissed. “One who took your stupid ass back and is giving you a family without batting an eye.” She grinds out.
“You’re making valid points here, but not for nearly breaking my arm.” He points out.
“Are you fucking stupid, Barton? Going after Cross? When you know he’s a psycho and weirdly obsessed with Y/N?” She hisses at him.
“Buck, we really need to talk about keeping secrets.” Clint huffs.
“I told you, it was a stupid idea.” Buck shrugs.
“Cross, has a guard on his tab.” Nat lets go, her tone annoyed still. “Maria’s office was raided. Someone’s looking into your girl.” Nat folds her arms over her chest.
“Son of a bitch.” Clint slams his hand against the wall, before pushing off it. “He’s going to plan an escape.” He spins looking at Nat.
“Can’t.” Buck smirks.
“How?” His eyes flick between them.
“I personally put Cross in solitary myself. Sam has a buddy on security, no contact.” Buck nods.
“So who the fuck is looking into her?” Clint scraps his hand down his face.
“No idea.” Nat shakes her head.
“She’s getting close to being due, Barton.” Buck points out.
“Less than three months.” Clint nods.
“Fury’s put you on early maternity leave. Stick to her like glue.” Nat warns him. “We’ll keep looking.” She nods.
“You don’t think,” Clint pauses “her uncle?” He looks at them.
“I’ll take a visit up there, double check.” Nat assures him.
“Hey.” She appears at the end of the hallway, hands on her hips. “You’re not spilling the secret are you?” She smirks at him.
“Never.” He grins at her.
“Everything okay?” Her head tips looking between them.
“Bad news about Cross, babe.” He sighs, heading for her. “Got caught trying to plan an escape. He’s in solitary. No more interviewing.” He reaches her, brushing her hair back from her face.
“You know, it’s okay. Maybe I should stop till after he’s here. He’s so distracting when I’m trying to be on my A game.” She nods, looking down at her hands on her belly.
“He just needs all the attention.” Nat grins. “He’s like Clint, already.” She laughs.
“So she was right, he’s going to be six foot, blonde and run around the city in tights.” Buck laughs.
“Thin ice already Barnes.” Clint shoots him a glare.
“I heard the word secret.” Nat perks up.
“Like a bloodhound.” Clint laughs.
“Oh I have a good question.” Y/N turns shuffle, running, slightly waddling into the living room. Buck laughs following with them. Clint shakes his head, Nat practically beams.
“If you had to summon Nat, what three things would you use?” She asks, taking a seat again.
“Secrets.” The room replies at the same time. Nat scuffs, rolling her eyes.
“Your baby.” Steve snorts. Nat shrugs, nodding.
“Bucky shirtless.” Wanda snickers, folding baby clothes.
“I’m still on this secret thing.” Nat points out, dropping into a chair.
“We picked a name.” Clint chuckles, taking the seat next to Y/N.
“Tell us.” Wanda claps excitedly, Nat sits up, a faint smile on her lips.
“Well we agreed his last name would be Barton.” Y/N nods, looking over at him. “We haven’t settled on a middle name, yet but.” She nudges him with her shoulder.
“Y/N came up with his first name. We decided on, Nathan.” He nods, looking around. Others are grinning.
“Nathan Barton. Strong name.” Steve smiles, kissing Y/N’s cheek.
“I picked Nathan because it’s the male version of Natasha. We could call him Nate for short.” Y/N smiles at Nat.
“Nat?” Clint smirks at her. She’s pink in the cheeks, her mouth sealed shut, like she was struggling. “Don’t you cry.” He grins. She moves, sucker punching him in the shoulder.
“Shut up Barton.” She croaks. Clint silently winces, turning he buries his face into Y/N’s shoulder trying to not laugh.
“So I love MJ, don’t get me wrong. But being that he’s part of this, world.” She glances around. “I was thinking you’d be his god parents.” She nods, his head comes up. Surprised, she hadn’t told him that. “I just mean, if anything happened. He isn’t exactly normal, but not anything weird. You’d be the best for him.” She shrugs.
“I’ll be, I have to,” Nat sniffs, getting up she’s out of the room quickly.
“I think her phones ringing.” Buck nods, not making eye contact.
“I mean we can change the name.” Y/N looks a little nervous. Buck’s phone dings a moment later.
“She said don’t think about it.” Buck looks up from his phone.
“Now just a middle name.” Clint laughs.
“If you say coffee or pizza, I’m going to let Nat punch you again.” Y/N blinks at him. He grins, leaning in to kiss her.
------------------------
Everything Peaches 2/6/19:
@xmtd5
@mo320
@all1e23
@courtmr
@avxgers
@eliza-kat
@izzy--lee
@irepeldirt
@dumblani
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@a--1--1--3
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Marvel Tag List 2/6/19:
@lumelgy
@dottirose
@jcc04220
@rockagurl
@mizzzpink
@jade-taillia
@coley0823
@widowsfics
@bookluver01
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@capsheadquaters
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@thefridgeismybestie
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@deanwinchestersrifle
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@daughterofthenight117
@lilmissperfectlyimperfect
Clint ‘Destory Me, I’ll Thank You’ Barton:
@ml7010
@coley0823
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@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory
It's Complicated:
@amberkay284
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@optimistic-babes
@jennmurawski13
@bradfordbantams
@natromanoffsboys
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@thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth
#Marvel#Clint Barton x Reader#Avengers#Clint x Reader#It's Complicated#Marvel Fanfiction#Clint Barton Series#Avengers Fanfiction#Hawkeye Series
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I am making a video for the museum about pitfall traps and so far I have messed up every take about the materials needed, and also my outdoor traps flooded.
#harper talks#job#I keep pausing weirdly when I talk about the traps killing what you catch#and knocking things over#feeling lucky that I don't hate my voice though!#I know that makes editing weird for a lot of people
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drarry fic idea that I will never write because it’s trash
A year after the war ends, Malfoy is elbow deep in restoring the Manor and associated properties. He accidentally acquires a young snake, idk how but he didn’t buy it. Maybe he found it in a shed or better yet, someone left it in his desk. He’s never owned anything that wasn’t a fancy purebred but for some reason he keeps it. It’s familiar green color with a yellow underbelly, it’s scales are sort of rough, and it has a pretty smattering of black across the ridge of it’s back. And it must be sort of magical because it’s too smart and seems to like Draco far more than reptiles generally like people.
He doesn’t know what gender the snake is but feels like it’s female for some reason. Her calls her Ceryneia. She never bites but she shows irritation in other ways.
Eventually he runs into Harry. There’s been a few more “pranks” like Ceryneia, each more serious than the one before. The last one involved some very dark magic and Auror Potter is dispatched to open an investigation. Draco realizes where he recognized the green of Ceryneia’s scales from: Harry Potter’s stupid eyes.
Partway through the most awkward and frustrating interview of Harry’s career so far, he hears Ceryneia hissing. She’s very rude.
“What’s that then?” Draco hasn’t noticed the hissing and doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so Harry has to ask, “are you aware you’ve got a snake up your sleeve?”
When Draco produces her Harry nearly has a heart attack, “you do know that’s a viper you got wrapped ‘round your arm, right??”
“...Of course I know that.”
“...”
“... ok is she venomous?”
“I have no idea.” pauses to listen as she hisses loudly, “but she is wound up. trust you to get a dangerous pet that manages to be prissier than you.” Harry looks at her amused for a minute than starts talking to her.
Draco’s pissed Harry can talk to her and he can’t, but unexpectedly finds the parseltongue thing sort of... hot? “What does she have to be wound up about?”
“She’s not a fan of mine, apparently. She must be at least a bit magical because she understood when I told you she’s venomous. I think she’d afraid you’ll get rid of her,” he squints as the hissing gets louder, “her insults put every one you’ve ever come up with to absolute shame.” he looks at Draco, dark hair falling into bright eyes, rakish and untidy despite being a ministry employee “she’s weirdly... fond of you.” More indignant hissing. Harry hisses back, almost laughing.
then lots of plot occurs and some great character/ship development. Lots of pining and realizations and even more fighting and snarky dialogue. Then, when they’re on the verge of catching a group trying to off people that were cleared of deatheater charges by the ministry, Harry disappears and Draco has to go looking for him. Ceryneia turns out to have be an illegal cross-breed between a green African bush viper and the descendant of a horned serpent. Draco finds the building Harry’s trapped in and Ceryneia tracks him like a bloodhound. They make out until Ceryn starts complaining that the building is drafty.
Then they like fight back-to-back or something while Ceryn shape-shifts into an 6-ton version of herself, starts a thunderstorm, breathes a paralytic venom into some badguy faces, and generally freaks everyone out. When she runs out of energy she shrinks to her usual size and slowly slithers up to Draco, demanding he pick her up and lay her over his shoulders for a nap. She sleeps through the last 10 minutes of the fighting curled around his throat like a scaly necklace.
After all the necessary crap at the ministry they get released back into the wild, and go to Harry’s for celebratory drinks with Ron & Hermione. Everything’s going fine (kind of) until a snow-white ferret with clever black eyes and a little pink nose comes running up to Harry, paws clicking on the floor as he runs around Harry’s feet and tries to climb his leg. Harry plays with him a little bit as Draco stares at him. The other two stare at Draco.
As the ferret skips off chuckling to himself, Harry looks up to see raised eyebrows. He suddenly looks uncomfortable.
“He was just.. in the shop one day,” Harry defends, “it’s not like I went in meaning to get one” Ron and Hermione are snickering in the background.
“What’s his name?”
“...”
“...”
“Thuban.”
“I’m never speaking to any of you again”
it turns out Ceryneia and Thuban actually get on, and seem to be able to communicate surprisingly well. They play tag around the house, the first time they saw the ferret chasing down the snake Draco nearly killed Thuban. Ceryn can shapeshift for a short periods at a time into a goofy-looking ferret with a vivid green coat and black-tipped hairs along her back and feet. They’ll play games and go on little trouble-making adventures trying to destroy things. The upside is that Harry doesn’t speak ferret and can’t carry on his stupid in-jokes with Draco’s pet when she’s running around and rummaging through drawers.
* * * * *
Thuban is a star in the constellation Draco and the Ceryneian stag/hind (usually hind) was a deer with golden horns that Heracles chased for a year. It may have had it’s own constellation at one point.
I’ve seen a few Draco-with-a-snake stories but never a any ferret fics and now I want 12. also I always loved in the books when people illegally breed experimental mixes of magical creatures, it’s so dangerous and unnecessary.
#drarry#prompts#fic ideas#i'd write this but it'd be a waste of time to put in more effort than this#so here we go#this counts as me writing it.#draco/harry#hp#harry potter#canon compliant except for the epilogue#but we all ignore the epilogue anyway
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